


Guinea Some O’ Dat

by Mareepysheepy



Category: South Park
Genre: Canon ages, Kid characters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareepysheepy/pseuds/Mareepysheepy
Summary: Tweek is missing. No one’s seen or heard from him (for a whole couple of hours).Luckily for him, there’s one hero who’s willing to rise to the occasion to come and save him.Even if it costs him his underwear.





	Guinea Some O’ Dat

The first Craig hears about Tweek’s disappearance is a phone call from Tweek’s mom.

He’d suspected something was a little off when Tweek didn’t respond to the deluge of guinea pig memes he’d sent through to him on Whatsapp. Never the creative genius, Craig had been quite proud of them. He’d gone to the extraordinary effort of sourcing the pictures on Google, entering them into the meme generator, and coming up with his very own wording.

After twenty minutes of Tweek not even reading his messages, he’d grown ticked off. _GUINEA A KISS_ deserved a fucking comedy award and it hadn’t even been acknowledged.

Officially grumpy, Craig had tossed his phone onto the bed beside him and settled for watching a documentary by Neil deGrasse Tyson on Netflix. He’d been half an hour in when his phone had rung. Briefly he’d considered ignoring it, but thought better of it (not-so-secretly hoping that it was Tweek telephoning him to praise his wit).

It had been Mrs. Tweak instead, asking in her usual dreamy voice if Tweek was over at Craig’s house. Craig had answered truthfully, eyes scanning around the room as just in case he somehow missed Tweek coming in. When he found nothing, he had felt a small spike of panic.

“Alright, dear,” Mrs. Tweak says in the present. “If you see him, let me know. He can’t have gone far anyway. His bike is still at home.”

“Yes, Mrs. Tweak,” Craig replies in a calm voice that belies his swirling thoughts.

When she hangs up, Craig pulls his phone back from his face and checks his messages to Tweek once again. They’re still unread.

Frowning, Craig taps out: ‘ _Where R U???_ ’ He drops his phone back beside himself and unpauses the documentary.

He only makes it another five minutes. Sighing, he pauses and checks his phone again. He’s not one for losing his head -never has been. He knows logically nothing is wrong, but so much shit happens in South Park he’d be foolish to not at least be wary.

Caving, Craig tries the direct approach and uses the least-used function on his phone. He’s almost unsurprised when it rings out, going to Tweek’s voicemail which consists largely of him screeching: “ _Who are you and what do you want with me!_ ”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Craig lowers his phone once again. His heart flutters. He already misses the sound of Tweek’s shouting.

He manages to last an hour and seven minutes before he can’t take the wait any more. Deciding that it’s time for direct action, Craig stands and marches over towards his closet. He jerks the door open and peers inside before he finds what he’s looking for.

If Mrs. Tweak has no idea where Tweek is, and Craig Tucker has no idea where Tweek is, there’s one person who can find out.

\---

Super Craig isn’t an average super hero. He can’t fly, for one. He can’t run very fast either. His identity isn’t even a secret. But two things Super Craig _is_ good at is mastering his lack of giving a shit -thus making him fearless- and punching stuff really hard.

He’s exactly the kind of guy who can rescue a boyfriend in need, which is why he’s marching down the street towards Stan Marsh’s house. Another of Super Craig’s strengths is his deployment of logic. Stan Marsh is a busybody who knows everyone and is sort-of-but-not-really Tweek’s friend. Plus he’s a lot easier to talk to than Kyle Broflovski, so it makes sense to start there.

When he reaches the Marshes’ front door, he raps on it with three short, sharp taps of his knuckles.

Mr. Marsh answers, swaying as he peers down at Super Craig with a squinted eye. “The fuck do you want?” he slurs.

Super Craig stares back at him, nose wrinkling in distaste. He’s not fully sure what the rules are for adults with alcohol, but he’s pretty sure that being wasted at half one in the afternoon isn’t really the done thing, Saturday or not.

“Is Stan home?” Super Craig asks in a flat voice.

Mr. Marsh blinks. His expression smooths out, leaving him looking a bit bewildered. “Oh,” he says. “You’re a kid! Hang on-” he breaks off to turn away from the door and bellow over his shoulder: “Stan! Stanley! Your gay, little friend is here.”

Super Craig catches a muffled response. Half a minute later, Mr. Marsh is stepping aside to be replaced by Stan.

Stan’s eyes widen at the sight of him. “Oh, he literally meant gay,” he comments to himself. He shifts, leaning against the doorframe and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hey, dude. Didn’t expect to see you at my door.”

“You look unexpectedly pleased to see me,” Super Craig replies, genuinely surprised, although his expression doesn’t give that away.

Stan shrugs languidly in response. “I assumed it was Cartman. Anything’s an improvement on that.” Super Craig can’t help but agree with that, nodding once in response. Stan continues to peer at him, still looking slightly perplexed. “But seriously, dude, you never come to mine. What’s going on?”

“Is Tweek here?” Super Craig asks, direct as ever.

Stan’s eyebrows lift in a way that tells Super Craig all he needs to know. “What? Why would be be here? He hates hanging out with us.”

“Oh,” Super Craig replies. It’s true, but he can’t help feeling disappointed. “Never mind. If you see him, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure,” Stan says absently, eyes drifting down to the ‘S’ taped to the front of Super Craig’s shirt. “Are we playing superheroes again?” He asks, looking a little wounded.

For a moment, Super Craig is tempted to say yes, just to enjoy the look on Stan’s face, but he thinks better of it. His mission is too critical to fuck up, after all.

“No,” Super Craig replies. “But I gotta find Tweek.”

“Are you two fighting?” Stan asks, looking wary.

“No!” Super Craig snaps. “We’re not fighting again. Jesus Christ, it was one time.”

“Yeah, and you two were total pains in the asses about it,” Stan says.

Super Craig scowls at him and gives him the finger. He turns to stomp away, but pauses when he remembers his mission. “Uh,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “If you _do_ see him can you tell him to phone me?”

Stan -the fucking asshole- gifts Super Craig with a smug, little grin and waves. “I’ll let you know how much you’re missing him.”

Super Craig spins on his heel and shoots Stan a double-bird.

\--

“Well _hello_ , Craig-”

“ _Super Craig_ ,” Super Craig interrupts.

“Oh yes, of course. Super Craig,” Mr. Stotch corrects himself. “So nice to see you. How are you and Tweek? Still happy together?” he asks.

Super Craig tries not to be weirded out by way that Mr. Stotch’s eyes bulge and his mouth grimaces. Super Craig is old enough to recognise desperation. Mr. Stotch looks for all the world like Super Craig’s relationship is the reason why he keeps living. He knows from that weird press conference years ago that Mr. Stotch is some sort of bi-curious-slash-repressed-gay. Super Craig figures that Mr. Stotch takes some sort of vicarious pleasure from following Craig and Tweek’s relationship, but understanding that doesn’t make it any less creepy.

He doesn’t answer right away, but Mr. Stotch continues to give him that wild-eyed stare and doesn’t seem in a hurry to call Butters down, so Super Craig shuffles on the spot and nods his head. “We’re doing good, thanks,” he says, reluctant to divulge too much. “Probably gonna marry him some day.” That causes Mr. Stotch’s hands to fly to his chest, grasping there as if he’s got a pair of tits. Belatedly, Super Craig realises that he’s definitely divulged too much. “Uh, right. So anyway, is Butters home?” he rushes, trying to distract Mr. Stotch from bursting into tears.

“Oh, well he’s grounded, but if it’s you, I suppose he can come down,” Mr. Stotch says in a choked-up voice. “Butters! Butters, come down! Craig is here!”

“Craig?” Butters says, bewildered. Super Craig clicks his tongue at the tone. Is he really that anti-social for everyone to be surprised that he’s visiting them. He’ll have to ask Tweek when he finds him.

Butters appears at the door in no time at all. He doesn’t even acknowledging the way that his dad runs past him dramatically with his hand to his head.

“Hey there, buddy!” Butters says with a blinding smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Um, hi,” Super Craig says. “Have you seen Tweek?”

“Tweek?” Butters asks. “I’m ever so sorry, Craig. I’ve been grounded all weekend. The last time I saw Tweek was Friday at school.”

Super Craig grunts in frustration. After Stan and his asshole friends, Butters seems to be at the centre of everything. He was Super Craig’s next bet and it’s super _lame_ that he knows nothing either.

“Are we playing superheroes and super _villains_ again?” Butters asks, breaking Super Craig from his thoughts. A weird shadow passes over his face and he rubs his hands together. “Is it time for a little… _chaos_?”

“Uh, no,” Super Craig replies. “Definitely not. I think the world could do without hamsters in tinfoil for now.”

Butters’ face falls. Super Craig tries to feel bad for wiping his sunny smile away, but frankly, he doesn’t. He’s got an important mission and Professor Chaos running around fucking about is going to be more of a hindrance than a help.

“Later, anyway,” Super Craig says, raising his hand in a lazy wave.

“Aw, hamburgers. I’m real sorry I couldn’t help,” Butters apologises.

Super Craig has already moved on, resuming his forward march in his search for his missing boyfriend. Secretly he hopes that Butters goes back to being grounded. The last thing Super Craig needs to contest with is a Supervillain.

\--

“Bzzzzt!”

“Nope,” Super Craig says, immediately turning his back on Clyde and walking away.

“Craig!” Clyde whines. “Don’t be like that! Bzzzt!”

Super Craig spins on the ball of his foot and squints disbelievingly at Clyde. “Why the fuck are you in costume?”

“The same reason you are!” Clyde argues.

Super Craig folds his arms over his chest. It makes the paper taped to his front crinkle and he has to glance down to make sure he hasn’t ruined his own costume.

“Which is?” He says once he’s sure the integrity of his super suit hasn’t been compromised.

“Uh,” Clyde says. “Because we’re playing superheroes again?”

“No!” Super Craig snaps. He’s never going to understand why the fuck all the other guys are so obsessed with the stupid superhero game. The battle for the stick of truth had been much better and his Feldspar outfit had been pretty sweet. He’d considered wearing that instead, but Feldspar was a thief and an assassin. He wasn’t the right guy to find missing boyfriends.

Super Craig ignores the crestfallen look on Clyde’s face. “How’d you even hear about it anyway?”

“Oh!” Clyde says, brightening. “Jimmy text me.”

“Wh- _how_?” Super Craig asks, incredulous. It’s taken him maybe fifteen minutes to work his way from Stan’s house to here. How the fuck did not only Jimmy find out, but Clyde have enough time to pull his entire suit into place. It makes Craig shake his head, ignoring his blossoming headache. “You’re all such fucking gossip queens, I swear to God.”

“No offence, but I think you’re the biggest queen of all of us, Super Craig,” Clyde points out.

Super Craig scowls at him, but gives him that one, considering he’s not wrong. He gifts Clyde with a grudging nod and says: “Tweek’s missing. That’s why I’m in costume.”

“Tweek’s missing?” Clyde’s eyes widen. “Do you think he’s been kidnapped?” He says, alarmed.

“Dunno,” Super Craig shrugs. He hasn’t really stopped to think about it. Doesn’t really want to. If someone’s hurt Tweek, he’ll punch them so hard his fist will go up their ass and out through their throat. His hand clenches by his side, fingernails biting into his palm.

“Maybe we can use my proboscis to sense where he is! Bzzt!” Clyde offers.

“I was really just here to ask if you’d seen him,” Super Craig says, eyeing Clyde’s nosepiece with distaste.

“No, but I can come with you! I’ll suck the-”

“ _Dude!_ ” Super Craig breaks in. “Enough with the sucking. It’s seriously gross.”

Beneath the stupid nose- proboscis- _whatever_ Super Craig makes out Clyde’s childish pout. “Don’t blame me for the way I am,” he mumbles.

“I blame you for picking a fucking mosquito for your character basis,” Super Craig scowls.

“You literally just have an ‘S’ taped to yourself!” Clyde argues back. “I put loads of effort into my costume! I even thought of a cool backstory. Your back story is you.”

“A me that’s _super_ ,” Super Craig says. “Besides, I’m meant to match Tweek. Who is missing. So forgive me for my superhero persona coming across as incomplete. Because right now it _is_.”

“Aww!” Clyde coos, ignoring Craig’s testy response. “You just said you’re incomplete without him. That’s so cute!”

“Argh!” Super Craig lets out a frustrated groan. “You’re totally missing the point. If you see Tweek let him know I’m looking for him. Otherwise take that stupid nose thing off!”

With that, Super Craig turns and stomps away, hands balled in his pockets. There’s only one thing left to do: go to where this all began.

—

Tweek’s mom is home when he stops by, but rather than risk being force fed a coffee that tastes like ass, Super Craig lets himself in with his spare key and slips inside uninvited.

With slow, creeping footsteps, Super Craig overcomes the stairs and hangs a right at the landing. He takes a moment outside Tweek’s door, gathering his courage. He checks WhatsApp again before deciding on a course of action. The sight of his still-unread messages galvanises him into action, steeling his nerves and urging him to seize the doorknob and jerk the door open.

Tweek’s room is the same chaotic mess as always. The floor is speckled with scattered Lego bricks that lead a trail to a large, complicated piece that Tweek has been working on. Clothes lie strewn haphazardly across the floor and the bed. Take-out coffee cups lie stacked like guardian monoliths on every level surface.

In short, the lack of any semblance of organisation is an affront to Super Craig’s senses, but it’s Tweek. It’s all so much Tweek that the fact that he isn’t there at the centre of it makes Super Craig’s heart give a painful, little squeeze.

He surveys the room. Bedsides the lack of Tweek, nothing seems out of place. In fact, the weirdest part is that the room feels like Tweek had disappeared _from_ it. Following his gut, Super Craig walks over to Tweek’s desk. There he notices a half-full mug of coffee. When he reaches out to touch it, he finds it stone cold.

That confirms it. Tweek wasn’t planning on leaving. He’d _never_ leave a cup of coffee unfinished.

Faintly alarmed, Super Craig moves to the window, jiggling the handle. It doesn’t budge. Super Craig bends over to peer at the Wolftech home security anti-child abduction lock that secures it, but finds that untouched too.

Moving back, Super Craig walks over to the closet and jerks it open with a flourish. It’s full to the brim with haphazardly-stashed clothes (although Super Craig notes with a little bit of a heart throb that the hoodie that Tweek borrowed from him is hanging up neatly), but it contains no trace of Tweek otherwise.

Making another frustrated noise, Super Craig balls his hands up and rests them on his hips. His eyes scan the room once again, but he finds nothing out of the ordinary.

That is, until a little scrap of material catches his attention. It’s white and peeking out from under the bed. Craig almost missed it from the way that Tweek’s sheets spill and slump over the the side of his bed, cascading to the floor.

Frowning, Super Craig lowers himself to one knee, crouching and picking it up. He holds it up up his face and immediately drops it again, flushing a deep red as he falls to his ass.

Underwear. _Tweek’s_ underwear.

He eyes them where they’ve landed, watching them like they’re a snake about to strike. He’s caught between his childish urge to go ‘ _ewwwww_ ’ and an older, weirder urge that he doesn’t quite understand yet to do _something_ with them. He’s not quite sure what that something is, but he doesn’t think it will be long until he does.

He’s so distracted by his inner turmoil that he almost misses the soft strains of music. Music and… singing?

Frowning, he moves to lie flat on his belly, cocking his head to hear better. It sounds almost as if Tweek has a… radio? Under his bed. Super Craig’s head snaps up. Maybe it’s his phone! That would explain a lot. Super Craig shimmies closer, gripping the edge of the covers and pushing them back so he can stick his head underneath the bed.

For a moment, he doesn’t see anything. A few fallen toys and a couple of old, crumpled t-shirts. He’s so absorbed in trying to understand where the music -grown louder- is coming from that he catches the sudden flurry of movement too late.

Something grabs his arms and shoulders and all Super Craig can do is let out an undignified shout before he’s dragged fully under the bed.

—

Super Craig doesn’t think he blacked out, but he can’t account for how exactly he got here. Here being what looks like some sort of… cavernous workshop full of elves.

“Am I dead?” Super Craig asks, deadpan as ever. It’s his best coping mechanism after all. He reaches up to touch his chest to check his heart is still beating. When he does, he finds his ‘S’ missing. “Goddamn it,” he mutters.

“What were you doing, poking around our workshop?” One of the weird, little gremlins demands. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be threatening, considering he’s only around 25 centimetres tall, but Craig is fuck knows where so he affords him some submission.

“Uh,” he says. “I’m looking for my boyfriend? Tweek Tweak? You’re uh… living under his bed, apparently?”

The elf glances at another weird, little elf. They exchange a wordless communication before the first turns back to Craig. “You know Tweek Tweak?”

“Yeah I’m dating him. I mean… I’ve been in his room tons, so I’m surprised you’ve never heard me?” Craig explains. He can’t believe he’s explaining his relationship to a little fairy, but then he also couldn’t believe that he wields an ancient Incan power over guinea pigs so…

“The portal is only open from time-to-time,” Gremlin 1 explains dismissively. “We tend to operate at night. I doubt you’re over at night much. You look too small to be banging each other, but I’m not a good judge of human age.”

“Right,” Craig says slowly. “So is Tweek uh, _here_?” He asks, remembering his quest to find and possibly rescue him.

Gremlin 2 regards him with a suspicious look. “Hmm,” he says. “We can take you to him, but we need payment.”

Craig blinks, patting his pockets. “I have like, six dollars on me?”

The elves share a look like Craig is hilarious and break off into laughter. “Money? We don’t want money. We want your underpants.”

“Excuse me?” Craig asks slowly.

“Your underpants. Take them off,” Gremlin 1 says casually.

Craig’s eyes narrow. “...are you going to rape me?” He asks cautiously.

“ _What?_ ” Gremlin 2 shouts, aghast. “No! We’re not perverts!”

“You want little boy’s underwear,” Craig mutters. “That’s pretty perverted.”

Gremlin 2 shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be boys. We’re not picky.”

“Right,” Craig mutters, dropping his pants. “Some privacy?” He snarls. The two elf-things turn their backs to him as Craig fingers his underwear, a bit regretful. He likes his pair, but Tweek is worth more to him than pants.

It doesn’t take him long to shed them, pulling his jeans back up and grimacing at going commando. He clears his throat and the two creeps turn around and seize his offered underwear with delight.

“Come along,” they beckon. Craig follows, having little other option but to trust them. He fidgets with himself, stopping to re-adjust every now and again, disliking the lack of support.

They make their way down windy corridors cut from stone and eventually reach a much, much larger room. It’s a hive of activity, machinery whirring away in a pretty professional-looking operation. Craig is shocked to see several more of the pervy little fuckers skittering about, but what catches his attention is Tweek.

Tweek is looking at a clipboard and frowning when Craig enters, glancing up for only a second before his gaze drops again. It takes him a moment, but then his eyes dart back up, wide and shocked.

“Craig?” He shrieks, mouth gaping open. “What the fuck are you _doing_ here?”

“Me!” Craig demands. “You’re the one who fucking _disappeared_! Your mom’s been worried sick!” _I’ve_ been worried sick, he thinks, though he wouldn’t dare say it aloud.

“I-” Tweek starts, before looking helplessly around the room. Where _can_ he start? He’s absolutely fine, keeping company with elves and working for what looks like a shipping company.

“I’m sorry, Craig,” Tweek says in a softer voice. “Come to my office, I’ll explain everything.”

“Your ‘office’?” Craig says, disbelieving.

“Well, really it’s more of a corner with some boxes made into a seat, but yeah,” Tweek explains lamely.

Wordlessly, Craig follows him. Tweek’s office is as he described it, a far corner with seats big enough for a human child to sit on. He gestures to Craig to sit in the chair, perching on the floor himself.

“Okay, so you remember I told you about underpants gnomes and you were really nice about it but thought I was nuts?” Tweek says. Craig nods dumbly, things finally clicking into place. “Well, they kinda terrorised me for years, but we learnt to co-exist. Anyway, eventually they came to me about their very flawed business plan and I kinda helped them.”

“Their… their _business plan_?” Craig asks in a flat voice.

“Uh, yeah. They had stage one and three figured. Just not stage two,” Tweek explains.

“And you suggested… stage two?” Craig asks.

“Kinda. I mean I’m ten. I don’t know anything about fucking business, man, but these guys are hell bent on underwear being their route to profit. I just suggested they sell them to Japan, ‘cause I read some stuff on google.”

Craig’s face creases in disgust. “You mean to tell me that my underwear is gonna get creeped on by some Japanese business man?”

“I dunno. Probably?” Tweek shrugs, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, dude. I really didn’t mean for you to get dragged in. They never bother me in the day, but it’s something to do with time zones and they needed me to look over their operations.”

“You know that much about business?” Craig asks, a little impressed.

“Hell no,” Tweek says. “I just listen to shit my dad says and repeat it back to them, but it seems to work. They’re making profit, so they’re happy.”

“Well… I hope they don’t do it too often,” Craig says, crossing his arms.

“Aw, were you worried about me?” Tweek laughs.

Craig flips him off in reply.

—

They spend another hour or so helping out the underpants gnomes. Craig picks up some of the more labourious tasks like shifting boxes, but he gets on with it, not wanting to risk being eaten by these perverted, little monsters.

Eventually, Tweek declares that they’re done for the day. He offers his hand to Craig, who takes it firmly in his own, and leads the way confidently out of the grotto.

As they approach the ‘surface’ (or however the fuck he can explain it), Tweek’s phone starts pinging with notifications.

“No signal down there?” Craig asks.

“Nope. They have a satellite phone -don’t ask me how- for emergencies. It’s pretty far underground, I think.”

They surface into the full light that filters under Tweek’s bed, and slither out on their bellies.

Craig is still contemplating what the fuck he just experienced when Tweek snaps his attention back by stepping in close and smushing a kiss to his cheek.

Blinking, Craig flushes and stares at him. “What was that for?”

  
Tweek, also blushing, totes his phone and wriggles it. On the screen is a picture of a guinea pig with the text GUINEA A KISS displayed over it.

“You asked for it,” Tweek laughs, eyes twinkling. “And besides, what kind of superhero doesn’t get a kiss for saving the guy?”

Craig grumbles, rubbing his cheek with the back of his wrist, but he can’t help the huge smile that stretches across his mouth.

“I lost my fucking ‘S’,” He says instead.

Tweek laughs again. “Dude your costume is shit. Give it up. I like that plain, old Craig Tucker saved me just fine.”

“It’s not shit,” Craig mutters. And it isn’t. Because much as Craig found the strength to save Tweek as himself, Super Craig at least got him through the stupid billshit that got him there.

There are definitely worse notes to retire on.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for my beloved big cousin.
> 
> She did a dramatic reading on the day lmao. 
> 
> Title was from the genius mind of Impalamano <3


End file.
